


migraine

by riotbreaker



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Platonic BDSM, migraines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotbreaker/pseuds/riotbreaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift had relied on other people to remove the demons from within him. First, Wing, then, Perceptor. Surely, he should be completely healed up by now, the image of spiritual enlightenment and balance.</p><p> There was something nagging at the back of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	migraine

**Author's Note:**

> based on the idea that Drift and Perceptor had been together previously, but during MTMTE, they are not anymore. Involves mentions of a previous relationship that involved BDSM for purposes of control and stress release, along with a lot of exercises of trust.

There was something nagging at the back of his head.

  
Maybe some memory, something he'd forgotten somehow. Some feeling, nagging, pulling, tearing at the seams on the back of his neck. Like... hammers, like hammers in his audios. Hitting, punching, clanging, hard, like metal on metal. Not akin to something he'd hear normally in a hard 'facing, not akin to something he'd hear in the heat of battle. Drift took an ex-vent and let his optics reboot as he focused.

The room wasn't particularly full, but Rodimus' presence was enough to shower it in his enormous, radiating air of almost snobbish overconfidence. Drift knew it wasn't all like that, after all, he had been used to serving under...not much better mechs. Personality-wise, Rodimus was a challenge...a challenge that, so far, Drift had seemed to win.  
It hadn't been easy, getting his confidence. Rodimus was a wary mech, deep down, for some reason or another - overconfidence often comes with a need to be constantly smothered in attention, and who was Drift to deny that? That smile was more precious to him that Rodimus would ever think - when his mouth twitched, Drift's spark swelled. He was doing good work. Prowl would be proud.

The way his spark swelled, though, was not in hopes of romantic sparks rising inside the tactician's own dull swirl of electrically charged wires. A job well done, was what made Drift feel complete. Mission accomplished: reward, imminent. A good job. Helping people. Helping people he'd wanted to help. He was an Autobot, for all effects, if one disregarded his past - and yet did Rodimus yammer on, Drift patiently taking his arm, positioning it right, playing it off with a joking, charming smile, even if Rodimus' frame insisted on letting him fail over and over again.

The tension gripped at him again, at his neck cables. The nape of his neck seemed to be the place it preferred to pile up on, like some sort of worm-ish piece of hypothetical parasitical matter. Drift rebooted his optics with a groan, and stood back, watching Rodimus try again, foot forward, back straight... that impatient streak in his stance that blew out of him. Rodimus was, for all effects, young, and these mechs were rare - reminded Drift of his own childhood, of his own stubbornness to learn..."swords".  
"That's it," Drift's voice had a commanding streak to it, "We're going to take it from the top." Rodimus' whine was like music to his audios - he took a bit of a sick pleasure in watching the other huff impatiently.

"How much longer am I going to be just...standing and slashing at nothing, Drift?" Rodimus must have thought they were friends. The way he said his name like he owned him, though... "I'll never get better at this rate." That earned Rodimus a happy grin from Drift, one that looked almost nostalgic as he watched and felt the swordsmech go around him. Yes. He was a friend of Rodimus'. The mech was bearable enough, now, wasn't he? Would Prowl approve of that?  
"A proper stance, Rodimus," the hotheaded captain let out a gasp a pained little sound as Drift elbowed him in the back, straightening up his spinal strut, "Is the first step," Rodimus cursed this time, as Drift forcefully pulled his arms straight, hand quickly moving to cover both of his and crushing his fingers to the sword, forcing him to grip it tight, "towards victory."

Drift's smile was a confident one then, but it didn't make Rodimus' wincing features change - instead, the mech sighed and relaxed his position, while Drift parted from him, arms behind his back. "I'm done for today...!" Rodimus sighed, pushing the sword handle into Drift's chest. "Seriously, I have no idea how you do it."  
Drift smiled and took the sword, the soft grinding of the metal of the handle on his chest making a now all too familiar sensation creep up at the bottom of his neck. Drift then smiled, and he smiled peacefully. "I've had time to practice," he said, as if all was well with the world. Rodimus took the bait, giving the swordsman a grin and a pat on the shoulder. Rodimus always believed anything he said. How satisfying was that? Prowl would be proud. A job well done - Drift controlled his breath effectively, it seemed that the other hadn't noticed anything yet.

"You okay?"

Drift rebooted his optics, the nagging feeling toning down to be replaced with surprise. "Eh? I'm fine," A slight chuckle, "Dandy, even."  
After a short moment of silence, Rodimus seemed to buy it. "You're awfully...venty, today. All that breath out of you can't be good," Drift almost felt touched that Rodimus cared - not really, but it always felt nice to not have a snarky comment to his attitudes since everyone seemed to know his background nowadays. "I'll be going, then. See you at the command center when Ultra Magnus finds out that some mech fragged up a maintenance droid to squirt paint everywhere."

Drift kept that smile, that peaceful smile. He would live through today again. He was doing good, after all. The Autobots needed better weapons, it was only logical that they'd try to assemble a phase-sixer of their own. Prowl probably already figured out that Drift knew this, as it seemed way too obvious to him anyway. Drift told himself that, as liked the safety of black and white, he enjoyed the notion of there not being a gray shade to this war. Autobot, Decepticon. There would be no end to the war unless one of the sides won. Drift kept reassuring himself, standing in that spacious room, sword just as it was, in his hands, when Rodimus had left.

After all, they were safe. Overlord was well and kept locked tight in his cell. No one knew but Brainstorm and Chromedome, and...ah. Red Alert had known. But...would Prowl be proud? Was he doing the right thing? When he chopped off his head, when he'd looked at the mech, when he saw that he wasn't loosing consciousness, and when he tampered with wires while he was still conscious...would Prowl be proud? Would Prowl be proud of their ways? Would Prowl be proud of /him/ when Drift sent in his report about how Red Alert had been terrified of death and almost screaming in the last few seconds, so much that Drift had to shove his foot in his mouth, giving the mech a deadly, broken toothed grin? And how Drift had to meld his face back together, and how Drift had violated a... technically suicidal mech's last wish by removing a possession from a comatose mech's hand?

There it was. The nagging feeling took over again, clanging, grinding metal, as if all the gears and locks in his body popped and wrung themselves against eachother, viciously. Drift groaned, grabbing the throbbing back of his neck, not even trying to figure out what was wrong, just trying to get rid of this pain, this awful, heavy feeling... Drift rebooted his optics as he stared at the floor of the training room. It came closer and bounced as he fell forward, sword clanging beside him, his weight held on one hand and on the knee joints that quickly came closer and made him assume an almost curled up position. Drift gripped at the floor, ex-venting hard, trying to regulate his systems, but no warnings were popping up. This was wrong, he was wrong. Something was wrong with his frame, his spark throbbed along with the back of his head, the sound getting closer, harder, deafening his audios that felt like they were short-circuiting.

Drift panted, terrified, as black blotches appeared in his vision, blocking it. In a panic, he attempted to reboot it, but the blotches took over, darkening his optics, bit by bit, like droplets of dark water. Drift had been only been panting until now, saliva pouring from his open mouth, but he wanted to scream, and was even more terrified when he found out he couldn't. He tried, Primus bless him, he tried, as he lost his vision, he tried to scream, but only a short-lived exhale with a tinge of voice to it came, his panicked systems rushing, the grinding and thumping and clanging and whining taking over him.

 

* * *

  
Drift regained consciousness.

The room was the same.. at least, the floor was. His jaw hurt, his jaw hurt so much - he popped the joints in it, and heard a short gasping sound from his left side. Drift began to move - and what made his energon run faster and colder was not the fact that he had company - it was the whining and popping and locking of his systems coming back online, the sheer sound his own frame was capable of doing. He registered a faint shifting on the side and laid optics on a set of familiar legs.

"P-perceptor," He muttered, and the scientist shifted again, rolling the warrior over and pushing him with a violent streak, so that his back would be straight against the hard floor. Drift let out a scream through grinding dentae - and Perceptor seemed to shush him. Drift couldn't even smile, even though he wanted to, rebooting his optics a few times and running a quick system check as he set his attention on his old friend...who looked serious. And..maybe a little worried. Drift knew Perceptor all too well.  
"I injected some hydraulic fluid into your spinal strut to ease your tension." He said, matter-o-factly, skipping over the details - Maybe he forgot that once, Drift actually enjoyed hearing his voice. "Stress-induced lockdown, Drift." And he sounded like he was blaming the swordsmech for it. There was an air of disappointment surrounding the scientist, now - Drift was about to speak, but Perceptor shushed him. "Twice, Drift."

It was uncanny, the way the other knew him still - Drift ran the scan for the second time anyway, grunting slightly while Perceptor stretched and bent each of his arms, slowly, the violence that had been there before completely absent, replaced with a delicate grip that Drift hadn't felt in what seemed like eons. Even the way he said his designation... the swordsmech was grinning before he knew it. "Everything," His voice ground on his vocalizer, rough... Drift hadn't heard this tone from himself in a long while. "Everything checks out."  
"Good." Perceptor seemed pleased enough, tugging at Drift's arm to pull him up. The swordsmech spotted the little needle on the side, medical kit behind Perceptor, still closed. No Ratchet, no First Aid, no medical drones - weird wasn't a good enough word to describe it, Perceptor, always by the rules... outright preferring to tend to Drift by himself when he had said so many often that he 'was no medic'? "You should be walking in a little. Get recharge."  
"Oh yes, Doctor Perceptor." Drift grinned at the irony. Perceptor didn't. "...How did you find me..?"

"I was looking for you, " Perceptor didn't seem like he wanted to share information with Drift. That reluctance that was so clearly him and that made Drift smile in a genuine manner. "I was looking for you, and I found you stress-locked. Luckily, I knew what to do." Perceptor always seemed to know what to do.  
"You always know what to do," Drift gave a brief chuckle after realizing what he said, and watching as Perceptor blinked, a bit dumbfounded by Drift's reactions, it seemed. "You always did," And then, Perceptor almost looked hurt, for a moment, before coughing and getting a straight face once more - at least until Drift spoke again. "Got that demon out of me."

"For the last time, Drift," Perceptor seemed almost angry, now, a sigh of frustration coming out of him. Drift didn't understand. "You have no demon inside you. You never did."  
As they sat next to each other, Perceptor's hand behind his back, his other, under his, Drift's spark seemed at ease. The closeness, the control...  
"Your frame, Drift," Perceptor explained, in a quiet tone, "You," the mech took a little time to form up another sentence, "You need to let out your stress. You need to go on a rampage. You, Drift," Perceptor was careful, but he didn't tiptoe around the question, "You, Deadlock," He felt Drift shift, his fingers curling around Perceptor's for some sort of support, "You need to get angry. Destroying, it's in you. Like it's in me, or in any other mech that's been fighting this war for as long as we have."  
Drift shifted again. He knew exactly what he needed. the clanging and thumping was coming, the curling and grinding of his gears was coming back - or at least, it felt like it was. His breath quickened again, " No, " he muttered, under his breath, "I'm good. I'm an Autobot."

"The war is over." Perceptor's hand squeezed Drift's, firmly. Drift seemed to squirm. "Alignments don't matter. They didn't matter when we met, and they don't matter now."  
"I'm an Autobot. I'm good. " Drift couldn't risk telling Perceptor about his mission, but their past together, the nostalgia that rushed through him when he saw the scientist walk past, the way they'd look at each other in hallways, the little hush-hush of their relationship. The way he had opened his spark up to Perceptor, the way they had helped each other. The fighting. The way the space pod felt cramped even though there was no one but him inside, and the way that Perceptor had looked the day he saw him again, before boarding the Lost Light. Disappointed. Hurt. Cold. "I'm good," Drift repeated, between short intakes and outtakes of breath, " I'm an Autobot. I won't kill for pleasure. Autobots don't do that. I won't hurt for my own gain. I won't--"

"Drift." Perceptor's arm had quickly found his shoulders, the larger mech holding him close. His breath didn't seem to get any steadier, though, stopping completely under the other's firm tone. "Autobots have killed for their own gain. Autobots have destroyed lives and hopes of many. Autobots have killed just because they felt like it." Drift didn't even shift, but his breath was slowly evening out. "A label is a label. It only means something if you give it enough value. You..." Perceptor's voice suddenly quieted down. That silky tone that sounded so familiar, and Drift felt so disgustingly unworthy of it. "First and foremost, you are your own being, with your own needs. You're hurting...yourself."  
Perceptor's voice seemed tiny now, pained. Drift could have sworn he heard him sob once, or twice - but the scientist's frame didn't even twitch, as the swordsman let his forehelm rub against Perceptor's, slowly, the grinding not feeling so loud as it had been before. Perceptor, though, continued. " You are a mech with needs, Drift, " He explained again, " And you should not feel bad because you want certain things."

Drift knew what he wanted. Punishment, reward, approval. Anything that showed that he was worthy and valuable in some manner. His processor was water, at the moment, flowy, thick water, that sloshed in his brain as Perceptor's words coated it, swam in it, were engulfed by it. "You should not feel bad for wanting. You've been trying too hard to hide who you are, and look at what it's given you. Stress-lock... oh, Drift, " Perceptor seemed frustrated again, but most of all, genuinely sad. "What is this obsession with you being /right/ or /wrong/?"

Drift found Perceptor's lips then. The kiss was lazy and somewhat shy - Drift could tell Perceptor was hesitant, and shaky. And shaky..he squeezed Drift's hand, pulling away from it. "I thought you made me right." Drift murmured, a little hopeful streak in his vocalizer, "I thought... you. I thought you made me right."  
"I didn't do anything." Perceptor gave an easy answer, pushing his helm against Drift's, not fighting the familiar warmth of his former partner anymore. "Stop it. You left, I hurt. I didn't make you right. I didn't make you wrong. I didn't make you /Drift/, I didn't kill Deadlock." Perceptor's vocalizer hitched before he spoke again, "The nature of our relationship took that turn because you were violent and you /wanted/ violence. Not even that, Drift. It's not the pain of an electroshock whip that keeps you at bay."

Drift's optics widened when Perceptor spoke again. The subject stunk of depravity, but it held truth, like it always had, and through Perceptor's voice, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. "It's the tugging on the leash. It seems to keep your levels steady, and...would explain why you didn't go into stress-lock while we were together. I am assuming that when you were Deadlock you also were kept under a strong hand, albeit violent. And now, the control is gone. " Perceptor didn't spare Drift of his gaze, neutral in appearance, but in it, were all the things Drift knew to be true. "You want to be free, you want to wander, yet, you want something safe to hold on to. Your ideals aren't enough, because of some twisted brainwashing you've put yourself through. You have no one stronger than you to hold you down if you go into a rage fit, so you cover it up with mocked-up niceness. And it's driving you mad."

The hydraulic fluid must have worked, because the thumping didn't come back, just pain, this time. Drift sat there, dumbfounded, while Perceptor's hand eased it's grip on his, a thumb hooking around his little finger. The fact that... Perceptor, of all mechs - the mech he had left for fear of becoming suffocated by- was the one that understood him the most made his processor slowly piece itself back up together. Drift ground his dentae, looking away from the scientist and letting go of his hand, covering his forehelm with it as he pulled his knees up. Drift didn't want to admit it, as childish as it was. But...

Here came Perceptor's voice, calm, firm. Soothing. Familiar, the kind of voice that made the pain in his spark ebb away. "I got over you, " With such harsh words towards him. " I got over you, when you left. Signed up for this mission because I was needed here. I did not plan to go back to Cybertron." Why...? "But I already told you that, Drift."  
Drift turned back, sitting on his legs, facing Perceptor. The pain dripped off his voice as he tried to keep it calm, to keep the easygoing facade he had become so good at."I...want what we had." Perceptor was about to deny it, lifting his hand up to make his point, but Drift quickly spoke up. "I know I can't have it, not now. But...give me another chance." Perceptor blinked, and Drift wet his lipplates before continuing, "It's all I ask of you."

Perceptor's lower lip seemed to quiver. The thumping in Drift's audios was his own spark, now, and he could swear he could feel the electrical charge building in the back of his throat, his vocalizer hissing out static, as Drift desperately looked for a trace of Perceptor that he hadn't seen before, a micro-expression that made sure that he was going to be forgiven. Perceptor sighed, straightening up and taking a hand to his lips, covering up what seemed to be a growing smile. "You're worse than Brainstorm," He said, and Drift saw hope. The swordsmech was about to speak, his mouth widening in an apologetic smile, but he was quickly stopped by Perceptor. "From the beginning, Drift. No save, this time. No debt. "

Drift nodded, sighing. " I knew you'd...make it harder for me." He vaguely wondered why he was suddenly so calm, why all conflicting thoughts had seemed to disappear. Perceptor, though, gave a quiet little chuckle, the kind only he knew how to. Drift bit his own lip. "...I'm sorry."  
"That's all I wanted to hear." Perceptor seemed a bit calmer, too. They both sat in silence, for a few moments, seemingly enjoying each other's company - the soft growth and expansion of Drift's tentative EM field, filled with hope and warmth, meeting the cooler barrier of Perceptor's, the small gazes, Drift offlining his optics as he rested his helm on his hand. Drift jolted away, though, after a while, feeling the ping of a new popup over his optics. The swordsmech gave Perceptor a small look, then a smirk. "I figured you'd need it."

"In case I need to blow off steam, huh..?" Drift registered the comm-link number, surprised at how easy talking to Perceptor still was. His frame felt a bit more lively as his smirk widened into a small, wicked little grin.

"No. In case you need help." Perceptor quickly corrected the other, optics offlined as he put his weight on his hands, behind him. "You can let your steam off over here. This /is/ a training room." Drift's optics widened, and Perceptor must have heard it, because he gave a little ex-vent. "...What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we should spar."

"...I haven't picked up a sword ever since we last met, Drift. Do you, excuse the expression, really want to... wipe the floor with me."

"Yes," The short and obvious answer made Perceptor's optics online and Drift's gaze to become slightly more challenging. " Definitely yes."  
"Drift, honestly--"  
"I'll go easy on you." Drift got up, throwing the discarded weapon to Perceptor, "Real easy." He winked, playfully. Perceptor looked positively dumbfounded taking the sword by reflex only, and he sat straight, ready to say something against this, but Drift was quicker. "Starting over, yeah?"

Drift's playful little smirk had always been Perceptor's weakness. The scientist got up, tilting his hip to the side, running a digit over the blade, confirming it was as blunt as it came. Drift's hands were on his hips, eye ridges up, his smirk still there, Perceptor definitely confirmed that, too. It was...like Drift to get up after something like an emotional conversation, like nothing had happened. Perceptor shrugged, smiling back - and the swordsmech moved to pick up another blunt training sword, quickly assuming a fighting position and gesturing for Perceptor to come at him.

Perceptor felt his legs move.

"You were always good at posture, Perceptor." Drift commented, dodging Perceptor's strike.  
This would definitely cut into his shift. "Posture is the first step towards victory." This was cutting into his shift. "Not bad!" This was cutting into his life. The thump and touch of the sword to his side, Drift laughing, Drift letting him win, Drift acting like a...l-like a goofball. "I taught you better than that!" Perceptor felt the air brush past him as Drift urged him to keep going.

Drift saw Perceptor.

Drift didn't feel the tugging at the back of his head. In fact, as he took a somewhat clumsy scientist on, for the first time in a while, even though his head spun when Perceptor fell on his front, he saw Perceptor again, he watched his scope click into place and he felt Perceptor's pressure in his hand as Drift tugged him back up. A shade, no, a clear image of his old lover, that wasn't a stone-cold mech like he appeared to be.

It would take a while, Drift thought. He wasn't sure what to think, but in this confusion, somehow, Perceptor had found him and, like how, he had taken his hand. Oddly enough, Drift felt at peace, maybe because of the familiarity of his former lovers' voice, maybe because he felt like had something to go back to, regardless of what path he took. Drift knew that he was worthy of forgiveness and rebirth. Now, more than ever, with his processor spinning and a happy kind of laughter bubbling up from his chest, Drift felt like he could completely start over, slowly, and surely.


End file.
